by Nya Rawlyns
Emily slapped his arm. “Don’t you metaphor me, brat. Listen to your older sister. I’m telling you the answers are right in front of you, so open your eyes and take a good look around. Before it’s too late.”
“But...”
“No buts. Let’s review shall we? You already told Mom and Auntie Marge to fuck off. Go Team Seamus. It’s about damn time. Two, you’ve got a job you like but it’s not where you want to be. Get a transfer or find a new job. Three, there’s a man out there probably wailing and gnashing his teeth because he let you get away. If not, well... his loss, so fuck him.” Skidding to a verbal halt, Emily licked her lips and asked, “You were fucking, right?”
“Jesus Christ, Emily!”
“All right, all right. Number four: go back to Wyoming, fuck Michael Brooks’ brains out and keep doing it until he says yes.”
“What if he still says no?” Sonny wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment.
“Then I’ll send Mom and Marge out to have a word with him.” She grinned like a Cheshire Cat. “I really doubt it will come to that, little bro.” Standing up, Emily reached down and helped Sonny to his feet. As he tottered uncertainly, she handed him the tumbler. “Here, drink this down and then I’ll get you some more. A man doesn’t often have a good reason to get shit-faced.”
His head reeling, Sonny asked, “What reason is that?”
With laughter in her voice, Emily said, “I’m going upstairs to pack your bag. Then I’m getting online and booking you a flight to Denver tomorrow and a rental car to drive to Laramie.” She paused at the stairwell. “They have hotels in Laramie, right?”
“Yeah, but don’t bother. I still have the rental cabin at the dude ranch where the mule and Peanut are. Owner’s looking after them for me.”
“Well, then. I’ll leave you to it. There’s nothing quite like flying three sheets to the wind.”
Nodding as he watched his sister disappear from view, Sonny wondered how he was going to pull off waltzing back into Michael’s life with nothing more than empty hands and a full heart. How did you even start that conversation?
How did you not?
Chapter Nineteen
The Invitation
Michael was down to counting his blessings and composing his last will and testament, mostly to distract himself from the slap of razor on strop as Sally prepared to transform his face into her version of an acceptable appearance.
The woman hummed to herself as she eyed the edge of the razor with satisfaction. Turning to her daughter, she ordered, “Girl, make sure that shower curtain ain’t too tight around his throat.” God, yes, please. “Uh-huh, that’ll do. Now, go on out. We got customers.”
Dolly squeezed Michael’s shoulder for encouragement. Cody replaced her in the tiny office.
“Ma’am?” The teen reached over top of Michael’s head. “Finally found it.”
Michael rolled his eyes trying to see what the heck was going on. The door shut with a soft snick. He twitched despite being under strict instructions not to move and dislodge the hair clips keeping his unruly mop off his neck and away from his ears.
He mumbled, “I feel ridiculous.”
“That might be, son, but if I recall, you’re the one coming round asking for help.” She held a container with foamy suds under his nose. “Jes shaving cream. Need to lube ya nice and slick.” She snorted. Michael blushed, immediately regretting letting slip why he needed a make-over. He regretted even more permitting Sally to railroad him into allowing her access to his tender skin with a sharp object.
Getting conversational, Sally said, “Mah first, he had a nice one like this. Real even, ya know? Bits o’ red.” A forefinger under his chin tilted his head up and back. The metal hairclip dug into the nape of his neck. He thought, ow, fuck, shit, damn, and inhaled a vaguely coconut scent. Sally continued her examination of his beard. “Seeing lots o’ grey now. It happens.”
“What happens?”
“Stress, son, stress. Takes it out of a man. Wears on him, know what I mean?” He was sure he didn’t. “Bert, now... he was number two... Bert went early.”
Michael mumbled, “Sorry,” dredging up sympathy for Sally’s loss.
She released his chin and smacked her thigh. “Not that kinda going, son. Talking snow on the mountain. Pure white it was. Looked right distinguished.” She swirled the brush in the coconut-scented lather. “Now there was a man didn’t know when he had it good.” Michael was about to mumble sorry again, but Sally leaned down and hissed, “You could learn a thing or two, you know.”
He hated to ask, but it seemed expected, so he did. “Learn what?”
“Stop wishing, start doing.” She pressed on his chest. “Lean back some. Yeah, that’s good.”
Not sure if it was safe to move his lips, Michael waited until Sally went back to loading the brush with shaving cream. Unsure if she was criticizing or encouraging him, Michael muttered, “It’s just dinner. At Hank’s. I’m... whaddya call it?”
“Plus one?”
That didn’t seem right, but it was close enough. He muttered, “I guess. Anyway, it’s not a date.” He sounded defensive, mostly because in his own mind he worried Hank and his wife were setting him up in an effort to take his mind off his troubles. The last thing he wanted or needed was to meet somebody new, not when he was still hung up on Seamus Rydell.
He’d been drinking when Hank had called. Feeling lonely and out of sorts. He’d said, “I dunno...” Hank had grunted, “Friday, the missus says get yourself cleaned up. Do you good to get out.”
There had been more, but in the end he’d agreed. Now here it was, Friday morning, with his clean-up detail sawing away at his three month growth of beard and a shaggy pelt on his head that made him look like a sheepdog. Just not as endearing.
Strong, blunt fingers stretched his skin. He shut his eyes and pretended he couldn’t hear or feel the rasping, scratchy tugs from ear to chin. Two short, one long. Repeat. He held his breath and tried not to dwell on why he’d been desperate enough to agree to Hank’s offer.
It was complicated, but it wasn’t rocket science, and he didn’t need his shrink to enlighten him about the particulars. He’d survived. Because of one man. Now that man was gone from his life. All because he’d let his damn arrogance make decisions that weren’t his to make.
What he wanted was just one chance to say his piece to Seamus Rydell, so much so it haunted his waking hours. But at night, in the hot metal box he called home, the nightmares of being strung up and sliced open joined the guilt and regrets. Like a double whammy, it flooded him with anxiety so intense he paced like a tiger in its cage. Wetted with the stink of his own sweat and weighted down until he couldn’t breathe, let alone sleep, he’d lost weight and gradually he was losing hope.
George had said... time and space, boy, time and space. Well, he’d done the time, more than three long months of it. He’d given space, though not a day went by he wasn’t searching the government sites looking for Dr. Rydell’s name and contact number. He could have asked Paul, but doing that would have raised a red flag. His boss had done him a kindness by letting him hang around the office despite his being on medical leave. Rocking the boat and dredging up a painful time wasn’t in anyone’s best interests.
The season had wound down, with him manning phones, filing reports and monitoring the new guy brought in to replace him. Now, at the end of October, with the first snow on the ground, they were closing up, preparing to shut the gates across the scenic byway.
It had taken three months for Michael to come to terms with a decision he’d been mulling over. Nothing life altering, nothing like having Sonny walk out of his life. But easy it wasn’t.
Sally patted his shoulder and whipped the lathered and whiskered piece of plastic off his chest. She replaced it with a towel and asked, “You sure you want to leave it long?”
Nodding, Michael smiled and teased, “I’m thinking I need a man bun. Dolly said it’d look sexy.”
“Oh she did, did she. Well, I like my men lookin’ like men, if you get my drift.” She harrumphed and snipped some stray hairs. “Your head.” Shrug. Snip, snip. “I’ll jes tidy it up.” Hair flew as she mumbled, “Jes don’t get that whole metrosexual look. Really don’t.”
He’d meant it to be a joke, about the damn bun, but Sonny had told him how his sisters did him up when he was a teen. Eyeliner, mascara, eye shadow, the works. They’d used a scrunchie to wrap his blond curls high on his head. He’d been mortified. Not that they’d done it, but because he’d liked it. A lot.
Just the thought of Sonny, his golden eyes limned with dusky shadows, was enough to kick Michael’s libido into overdrive. He folded his hands on his lap, hoping Sally wouldn’t notice. Fortunately, she was too busy complaining about his sartorial choices to pay attention to the state of his jeans. He grimaced as the woman gathered his shaggy brown hair and gave it a vicious tug, holding it tight as she secured it with a band.
Stepping away, Sally pursed her lips and called, “You, girl. Get your ass in here. You need to see this.” Michael cringed, not sure if he wanted to know.
Dolly sauntered in, followed by her boyfriend. They moved around in front of Michael and tipped their heads to one side, giving him a once over. Cody blushed. Michael had no idea why, though curiosity won out and he reached up to palm the ball of hair. Tendrils escaped the binding. He fingered them, wishing he had a mirror.
Sally deferred to her daughter, asking, “This it?” Was it his imagination or was Sally warming to the look?
Grinning, Dolly said, “If that don’t do it, nothing will, Ma.”
Michael and Cody both yelped, “Do what?”
Sally waved the teens out of her office while muttering, “Never you mind.” To Dolly she barked, “Get his stuff into the dryer.”
Appalled, Michael barked, “You don’t have to...”
Ignoring Michael’s objections, Sally directed Cody to see Michael’s truck was fueled and ready to go. When it was just the two of them again, Michael said, “Not sure how to thank you, ma’am. If it hadn’t been for you and the kids, it’d have gone a lot harder than it did.”
Grabbing the broom, Sally swept the floor while Michael crouched down, holding the dustpan. She murmured, “Wasn’t nothing, jes what friends do for friends.”
Michael emptied the dustbin into the trashcan and hung it on a hook by the back door. No matter how much Sally and her tribe claimed it was nothing, he owed the woman big time. She and Dolly had seen to finding a nurse to stop by when he’d been discharged from the hospital. The kids had run shifts, checking on him. Seeing he had meals on the table, his prescriptions filled. Cody had snuck him six-packs and tended to the horses. The boy had driven thirty miles out and back to Hank’s place, on his own nickel, riding Red, keeping him fit and the mustang from going feral again. Without asking, the kid had also checked on Sonny’s mule and the mare, reporting back on their condition.
The fact Sonny hadn’t sent for his mounts was the only bright spot in a universe that seemed like a black hole sucking all the energy and joy from his life.
He reminded Sally once more, “It wasn’t nothing, and I intend to repay my debts.”
“We’ll see, Warden.” She frowned. “Winter’s coming. Plenty of downtime if you’re still around. I’ll have things need worked on. If you’re here.”
Michael grabbed his hat off the hook and tapped it on his thigh. He wasn’t sure about setting it over the bun. There was no sense knocking the damn contraption askew, not after all that effort to make him look presentable. He scrubbed at his smooth skin and grinned. “How do I look? Sexy?”
“Fetching.” Making shooing motions with her hands, Sally said, “Now skedaddle, boy. I got me better things to do than lube your ego.” Before he made it out the front door, Sally reminded him, “I’ll send the boy with your clothes. You sure you don’t want to go shopping? Get somethin’ decent to wear.”
“Not a date, remember?”
“Right.”
Michael shut the door and shivered. The wind was eastering, the air dampish with the scent of snow. If he was lucky they’d have a storm hit long before he had to head west to the base of the Snowys, dumping a foot of snow and keeping him snug in his trailer with a bottle of whiskey and his memories.
But, first things first. He had a meeting with Paul. He wasn’t looking forward to it because if the answer was yes, then that would be that. A done deal.
Yes would be the little change that meant him finally coming to terms with his recent past. Yes would take him off the cops’ radar and the questions that seemed to hound him without rhyme or reason. Yes would give the government suits an excuse to pat themselves on the back, a reward for them appearing fair-minded while shoving the last of the unpleasantness under the table.
****
Without looking up at the knock on the door jamb, Paul motioned Michael into his office. “Sit. I just need to finish this. Won’t take a minute.”
A minute lasted twenty, giving Michael plenty of time to break out in a nervous sweat. When his boss finally snapped the laptop shut and looked up, he chuckled. “New look for your new job, Brooks?”
Swallowing his relief and a conflicting wash of dismay, Michael said, “I got it then.”
“Pretty much. Just needs the usual signatures. Mind you, it’s not effective until first of the year. Should give you plenty of time to make arrangements.” Although his expression was kindly, Michael sensed his boss wasn’t comfortable with his decision.
Paul reached into his desk and pulled out a file folder, shoving it across the desk toward Michael. “That’s your paperwork. This ain’t your first rodeo, I know, but some of the procedures will be different. You’ll have time to refresh your training, get up to speed on protocols.”
Michael stretched for the folder, but Paul put his hand on it first. “I understand why you’re doing this, son, I do. But it’s a big change, don’t you think?”
Michael shrugged. “Not so big. It’s the same job, pretty much. You’re still the head honcho. I’ll just be working out of the Douglas Ranger Station at the other end of the state.”
Paul wrinkled his nose. “Whole lotta nothing up there. You sure you want that?”
Did he? It was a fair question. The answer wasn’t easy or clear, but at least it was honest. “Can’t say what I want anymore, Paul. My head’s so fucked up, I can barely see straight. And you know it.” George’s words haunted him. “I need time and space.”
“Well, space you’ll have. There’s nothing like ten million acres of land and a half dozen interagency interests to juggle. Don’t expect you’ll get bored.” He leaned forward, his stare intent. “You sure you want to deal with that kind of a mixed ownership landscape, especially now?” He sat back and sighed. “I don’t want you jumping from the frying pan into the fire, Michael.”
“I appreciate it, Paul.” He stood to shake hands. “Here’s the thing, though... I won’t know until I try.”
Paul nodded he understood, but as Michael bent to pick up the folder, his boss said, “Do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Give it the weekend to think on this.” He tapped the folder with a forefinger. “If you’re still wanting the transfer, then I’ll expedite it. Meantime, you’ll have whatever you need to get yourself settled. Is it a deal?”
Michael shrugged. It was no skin off his nose to wait a few days. Nothing he knew of was going to change his mind at this point. His heart and his emotions might be a fucked up mess, but not his ability to do his job. The only difference was, in the near future he’d be looking at a horizon stretching to infinity instead of the sawtooth beauty of the Snowy Range.
As Michael left the office, Paul said, “Hope everything works out tonight.”
Does everybody in Laramie know I’m going to dinner at Hank’s place, for crying out loud?
Chapter Twenty
What You Get at Hello
The last of the light had fa
ded as Michael drove down to the barn to say hi to his horses. He had a bag of carrots and a couple apples along to appease his guilt for ignoring them, letting Cody be his surrogate while he got his shit together.
He mumbled, “Look how well that worked out.”
Red nickered a greeting and nudged his hand, searching for a treat. The rule was, no hand-feeding. Apparently young Cody hadn’t gotten the memo. He reminded himself to have a word with the kid, then cursed softly. What difference did it make? Soon enough he’d have to find another place to board the horses, along with finding a spot to park his trailer.
Idly he wondered if he could afford to buy a piece of ground to call his own. If not that, then perhaps he could rent something. It only needed to be big enough for himself, with a run-in shed for the horses, and a storage building for hay and equipment. Fenced, with sweet water.
“Yeah, right. Dream on, asshole.”
Disgruntled, he wished he had a good excuse to back out, but Hank was aware he was at the barn, and Cookie had called out dinner wasn’t for another hour so take his time. He flicked on the overhead light and strode toward the tack room, breathing in the sweet scent of alfalfa and the more pungent aroma of manure still sitting in a wheelbarrow at the far exit.
Looking to kill time, he grabbed the wheelbarrow handles and pushed the load toward the manure pile. Tipping it, then rocking it back and forth, he dispensed the load and returned the wheelbarrow to the barn, leaving it resting against the outer wall.
A bray caught his attention. Leaving the light in the aisle on, Michael followed the sound to a pasture at the far end of the warren of paddocks. He didn’t need his night vision to kick in. The mule’s multi-colored coat stood out like a sore thumb. Although he couldn’t see the little bay mare, he knew she’d be hovering close to the mule’s flank.
He called, “Hey, Spot,” and got an ear twitch for his efforts.
Placing his right foot on the lower rung of the fence, he crossed his arms along the top rail and let his attention wander back to Timber Lake, when he and Sonny had sunk to their necks in the steam heat, listening to the sounds of their mounts munching grass and the soft susurrations of water lapping the gravel shore. That was a good memory, one worth keeping.